


Selfish

by Hadrian_Pendragons



Series: Royal Trio Needs A Hug [2]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Gen, I decided their dad was a single dad, Identity Issues, P5R Spoilers, Self-Doubt, no beta we die like men, probably some tense things i misses sorry too tired, referenced canon character death, sumire needs a hug, sumire’s dad is a good dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:40:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26002798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hadrian_Pendragons/pseuds/Hadrian_Pendragons
Summary: “No, Sumire,” he stopped her. “You’re both my brilliant daughters.”She couldn’t say anything else. She knew she wouldn’t convince him.She didn’t want to try. Did that make her a coward?
Relationships: Original Yoshizawa Kasumi & Yoshizawa Sumire | Yoshizawa Kasumi, Yoshizawa Shinichi & Yoshizawa Sumire | Yoshizawa Kasumi
Series: Royal Trio Needs A Hug [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1887304
Comments: 1
Kudos: 22





	Selfish

Her front door had never been more terrifying. Not the day she came home from primary school with a failing grade and had to face her dad. Not the day she fought with Kasumi and had to return to the house after a few hours of ‘running away.’ Not the day she came home with the knowledge her sister would not be there, and that it was entirely her fault.

The one thing she was grateful for was the silence beyond it. Her extended family had left days ago, the New Years celebration finally over. She knew her palms would be shaking instead of simply sweating if she had had to face her entire family and not just her father.

Her head ached.

It had ached ever since she had walked away from Kurusu and Akechi, as if it had been ripped to pieces and stitched back together. The memories she had now were much clearer than the ones before, the ones that she could now understand were fuzzy at the edges and missing so many important details.

It felt wrong, in a way. Moving this body of her own free will. Gone was the sure but unsteady phantom sensation of not belonging, of existing in a form that would never respond to her nor push itself to its limits. Now, she controlled every inch of herself, from her nose to her toes.

Now, she didn’t feel like a ghost.

She hated it.

Something about standing on her front doorstep, hand hovering over the knob, and admitting that to herself broke the dam. She crouched down and covered her face, wishing that the front porch light wasn’t revealing every crushing flaw and worthless trait and devastatingly clear reason that  _ she was not Kasumi Yoshizawa. _

_ Don’t cry. Don’t cry. She doesn’t cry, so why should you— _

_ I’m not her.  _

_ I can’t be her anymore. _

It felt like that would never be a sure declaration. Not with the trembling of her mental voice, of the breaths she took to try and bring herself under control.

But Sumire Yoshizawa was never good at controlling her emotions.

Eventually, it became too much. She turned away from the door and sat on the step, wishing she could disappear into the concrete below her. Wishing that she couldn’t feel her body. Wishing that her voice didn’t waver as she apologized under her breath. Wishing that that false confidence, so far gone when her persona lay dormant inside her, would manifest around her and tie her hair back up and lift her chin to smile at her tears and tell her that she wasn’t who she was.

The world had crumbled around her, and there was no way she could pull it back together. No way…

She heard the knob turn, squeaky from too many years of energetic girls letting it slam closed behind them. She held her breath as terror spread through her.

_ They don’t want me. They don’t need me. She should be the one here— _

The hallway light cast her shadow before her. Her hair was a long and tangled mess. Her shoulders hunched in further and she nearly curled into a ball. Maybe she could bounce away from this encounter.

She wasn’t the right one.

“... Sumire?”

Her dad had answered the door. She couldn’t know what drew him there.

She shook her head. Why ask for her? Everyone needs Kasumi, right?

“Hey,” he crouched down beside her. “Sumire, are you okay? Are you hurt?”

She shook her head again.  _ Why do you keep calling me that? _

He sat on the step beside her and placed his arm lightly around her shoulders, just like he used to do when she came to him, upset about how harsh her coach was, crying because she couldn’t get her routine  _ just  _ right. Never saying a word about how Sumire Yoshizawa was so very jealous of her big sister.

A sob pulls itself from her throat.

_ I didn’t mean it, Kasumi. _

_ I love you. _

Her dad shushed her, and for the first time since Sumire was the only sister to come home, she cried.

  
  


Her room is just like her sister had made it.

Kasumi’s touch was on everything in this house—well, everything except the coffee pot. Sumire was the one that drank coffee, every now and then, for that morning boost of energy. Kasumi always woke up bright and early, ready to go at a moment’s notice. Sumire felt exhaustion pull at her limbs, from the time she had spent in the palace and the time spent wandering late into the night before finally ending up in front of her door.

She sat on the bed, scooting back until her back hit the wall beside the window. She hadn’t bothered to brush out her hair, or wash her face, or anything besides changing into a tank top and sweatpants. Another thing that was different between them. Kasumi always did things with style and had a good sense of fashion. She always tutted at Sumire’s choices in clothing and pointed her towards the more trendy things. 

Sumire pulled the blanket around her, adding a flaw to the otherwise immaculate room. She wanted to change the wallpaper, get rid of the childish light pink for something darker—maybe not another color though. One thing they shared was their love of pink. Pink sheets. Pink dresses. Pink hair clips, pink eyeshadow. 

… Sumire liked pink. Sumire could like pink, right?

A knock came to the door. She pulled the blanket over her head as it clicked open, and the heavy footsteps of her father walked in. 

“... Sumire?”

She tried her best not to flinch. How long had she ignored him? How long had she turned to look, but heard something else? 

He sat on the bed beside her. 

“I… have hot chocolate?”

Kasumi hadn’t liked hot chocolate, either. She always denied it, repeating every time, “I want to keep to my diet.” And then she would cook enough for the both of them. 

Sumire could never turn down hot chocolate with her dad. When was the last time she’d had some?

She pokes her head out. Crimson strands cover her face. 

Her dad laughs lightly, “There’s my little girl.”

Sumire’s face was still wet, her eyes still raw, but once again tears sprung up, and she wiped them away on her blanket. 

“Sumire?”

“I’m-I’m sorry.” She stuttered out. “I’m sorry, Dad. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m not Kasumi. I tried but I…” She stops. She couldn’t explain what breaking out of Maruki’s influence was like. It was too strange. Too wrong. She still didn’t know what the right choice was. 

What she  _ should have _ chosen—she had decided when she walked away from his palace with her hair down, after all. 

“Oh, Sumire…” Her father leaned over to the bedside table and set down the two steaming mugs. One pink with black hearts—Sumire’s. Kasumi’s had red hearts—and the other white with  _ Best Dad  _ printed on the side. The both of them had gotten it for him for his birthday years ago. 

He wrapped his arms around her. She hid her face in the blanket and cried.

“Shh, baby girl, it’s okay,” he said, like she was twelve again and just came back from a horrible day at middle school. “I had two daughters. One was Kasumi. And the other was Sumire. And I love both of them the same.”

Sumire shook her head and buried herself more, as if the warmth of the blanket could swallow her whole.  _ It was my fault,  _ she wanted to yell.  _ How can you say that when it was all my fault? _

She didn’t tell him that. She couldn’t say that to him, not when he still called her Sumire and brought her hot chocolate in the pink-and-black mug. 

“And I’m so glad,” his voice shook. “So glad Sumire’s still here.”

Sumire turned and wrapped her arms around him through the blanket. “I miss her, Dad. She was always the better sister, I’m just—“

“No, Sumire,” he stopped her. “You’re both my brilliant daughters.”

She couldn’t say anything else. She knew she wouldn’t convince him. 

She didn’t want to try. Did that make her a coward? 

_ She would be here if it weren’t for me. _

“I’m just glad you’re here, baby girl. Sumire. You’re my precious daughter and I’m  _ so glad you’re here.” _

Sumire cried for the second time that night. The hot chocolate was lukewarm by the time they drank it.

  
  
  


They stayed up that night, talking. About anything and everything. She saw the weight lifting from her father’s shoulders for every pause and stutter she gave, every thoughtful moment where the tried to separate what was her from what was her sister. It hurt. It hurt that she had hurt him for so long, when they were already suffering. 

By the time the sun began to rise, she was angry. Frustrated. Disappointed, in herself and in  _ Maruki,  _ who pushed her so readily into hurting those who were still left behind. 

Suddenly, the world was even scarier than it had been the day after Kasumi’s death. It was scary, tiresome, exhausting, but… but the more she spoke with her father, the less she wanted to run back to that perfect world where Sumire Yoshizawa didn’t exist. Her father wouldn’t want that. And she couldn’t do it to him—she couldn’t take away one of his daughters that he loved so much. 

Even if it should have been Kasumi here. 

Would Kasumi have wallowed? Would she have blamed herself? Would everyone have mourned her the same way?

She fell asleep feeling empty. She wokeup, hours later, and she still feels empty, but the mugs are still sitting on the bedside table. Her father must have forgotten them. And at least it was a reason to climb out of bed.

  
  
  


It took a few days to remember that her phone had died, and she should charge it. The cracked screen gave her pause. Kasumi’s phone had cracked in the accident. Where had Sumire’s gone? She would have to ask her dad.

What awaited her is several notifications, pinging away. 

Her coach. Her gymnastics friends. The thieves.

There was only one message from Akira. 

_ Take your time. _

She almost laughed at it’s awkward, honest simplicity. 

And once again, she cried. 

_ Would Kasumi have cried this much? _

She shook her head, and held the broken screen to her chest. 

_ I’m sorry Kasumi. I’m sorry I’m so selfish. I’m sorry I don’t want to go yet. _

She wondered if Kasumi would actually blame her.

She knew her perfect, amazing, kind and beautiful sister wouldn’t blame her for any of it.


End file.
